The Drive
by Lililedger
Summary: Kevin takes his car for a spin. Bevin


**Warnings: **This story contains exactly 40 uses/variations of the 'F' bomb.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own.

* * *

His eyes are on the road, yellow and white lines blurring together in front of him. He can't see straight, he can't think straight. Hell, if he were to get out of the Camaro, he probably wouldn't be able to walk straight either.

It's not alcohol coursing through his veins, as much as he wishes it was. It's not drugs, either, though he could probably use some of that alien-lithium he tried a few years back. Fucker knocked him out for nearly two days. Best sleep of his life. Let him forget everything for a little while, even if he did wake up with those nasty stomach cramps. No, it's sorrow in his veins, and anger in his eyes. He's seeing vivid red instead of that pretty, pretty green he loves so much, thanks to that little fucker who started this all.

It's all fucking Tennyson's fault.

Not Gwen, no, not her. Gwen's a nice girl. Pretty, too. If things were a little different, he could see himself with her. Buy her pretty, shiny things. Girls liked that shit, didn't they? Flowers and chocolate and a pretty little house with the stupid little fence. He could get her all that, s'long as he didn't tell her how. She'd like that. Benji didn't like it when Kevin bought him pretty things and 'destroyed his masculinity and made him feel inferior' or some shit like 's a fucktard anyway, and Kevin doesn't really care what he thinks.

Kevin really wants to blame Julie for all this shit. Pretty little Julie with her pretty little tennis outfits and her perfectly charming smiles. 'Course, blaming Julie's kinda like drowning kittens, and Kevin isn't that evil. 'Sides, it wasn't her fault, and he knew that. It's all fucking Benji's fault.

Fucking Benji with his fucking smile, and fucking ass, and fucking eyes, and Kevin should know because he's fucking fucked Benji, or 'made love' or whatever the pussies are calling it these days. Kevin ain't no girl.

(Neither is Ben, and Ben's the one who called it 'lovemaking' and Kevin had been happy, so, so happy, but that is neither here nor there, and Kevin doesn't really give a fuck because Benji's still a cheating fucktard.)

It was fucking Ben who kissed Julie, and not the other way around. Kevin knows that, and it makes it suck even more because it means he can't even hate the bitch, much as he may want to. She's a nice bitch, really, kinda like Gwen. She'd probably want pretty, shiny things too, just like every other girl in the world, and even though Benji's not a girl, Kevin wonders what the fuck is wrong with him. He should just be happy Kevin's paying attention to him and not the fucking car. The car Kevin painted fucking green to match his fucking gorgeous eyes. Benji's never fucking happy. It's never fucking enough. He hasn't even noticed the color of the fucking car.

What the fuck was so wrong that Benji felt the need to run to a fucking girl anyway? It's not like the fucking sex was boring. Kevin had plenty a' kink in him, and so did Benji, so there really didn't seem to be a problem there. They even said 'I love you' and other pansy shit like that.

Fucking Benji.

Speak of the devil and the phone shall ring. That fucking stupid-ass ringtone Ben picked blared through the car. Kevin answered it out of reflex more than anything else, knowing full well who would be on the other end.

"Kevin?" The fucktard's fucking beautiful voice echoes through his head. "God, Kevin, just come home, please. I'm really sorry, Kevin, it didn't mean anything!" Somehow, that only makes it worse. Kevin doesn't answer, can't answer. Can't even fucking breathe right with the pounding in his chest.

"Kevin." Benji's voice is frantic, but distant, as if he is moving through rain. Kevin is dimly aware of drops of water on the windshield, but it doesn't matter.

"Kevin, where are you?"

He hangs up.

Fucking Benji, trying to make things right and be the fucking hero again. Fucking cheating Fucktard.

He drives faster, pedal to the floor. Right about now, Gwen would be screaming, clinging to her seatbelt for dear life, 'Slow down, Kevin, you're going to crash!' Benji would be laughing in the passenger seat, arms in the air. 'Woo-hoo!'

Kevin realizes that he really wants to cry right now. He knows he won't. He's not a fucking pussy, and he shouldn't be making a big fucking deal out of this shit.

Suddenly, something crashes into the roof with a thud. He knows exactly what it is, but he still jerks the steering wheel.

He narrowly avoids a sign, but he somehow manages to maneuver through the wind and rain. By the time he gets the Camaro parked safely on the side of the road, Ben has already returned to human form and is rapping on the window.

"C'mon, Kev, open up."

Kevin stares at him, seeing, but not really comprehending. What the fuck is he doing here?

He must've said that last bit out loud, because Ben flinches, guilt in his eyes.

"Look, Kev, I'm sorry. Please let me in, I'll do anything to make it up to you."

Kevin shouldn't, he really shouldn't, but they both know he will. He unlocks the passenger door and Ben climbs inside, dripping water all over the nice passenger seat, and Kevin doesn't fucking care. He yanks Ben across the divider, slamming their mouth's together so hard their teeth hurt. He probes the willing, pliant body before him, searching for answers he knows he won't find, explanations he knows don't exist.

Ben doesn't know why he did it. He just did.

And Kevin doesn't fucking like it, but that's just Ben. Ben's a fucktard and he does fucking stupid things. That's just the way he is.

And Kevin fucking loves him anyway.


End file.
